Tragic Happy Endings
by Futterwaken
Summary: "Ends are not bad things, they just mean that something else is about to begin. And there are many things that don't really end, anyway, they just begin again in a new way. Ends are not bad and many ends aren't really an ending; some things are never-ending." Or Scorpius and Rose's story with my words in your order.


A/N: This should work both ways. you can follow the order it is written in (sad ;() or the way it's numbered. (happy :D). Enjoy.

Tragic Happy Endings

4. They meet again. It's raining and everything around them seems to seep into nothingness leaving them alone, one on one. Facing each other and all those memories that they've tried to forget for all that time. All that time that she spent drinking herself to unconsciousness while he threw himself into his writing. He's been writing day and night and now that they both finally feel like things are looking good, like they have picked themselves up, now that finally the clouds seem to linger a little shorter than before, now that light seems to sprinkle a little bit of itself on her cheeks and on his shoulders. Now there's rain, pouring like never before. He's standing there and she's sitting on the cold sidewalk because no matter how strong she might seem to others, right now standing and looking him in the eye is just not an option. He bends down. He doesn't try to lift her head up so she can face him; no, he knows that has stopped working a long time ago. He has to start fresh, think of something other than strength. So instead of making her look at him, he drops to his knees and tries to peer through the shield that she has set up around herself. When he finally gets across all the auburn hair he apologizes. She doesn't hesitate, because there's no point. The faster the better. She doesn't want to waste time on something that she knows the answer to. She gives him another chance, because they are Rose and Scorpius and they are all about giving chances when there are no chances left to give.

5. People start talking again, because this has already happened before and because they love some drama with blond Malfoys and redheaded Weasleys. People start talking, because they have nothing else to do than bet on how this time is going to end, how much this hurricane will cause, how strong will be the sun and will it be strong enough to dry up all the rivers of the heart? People start talking. But them, they go on like that, loving, living, being… together. The fresh start seems to give them both something to fight for. They have both changed and even though both of them are in love with the past, they begin to get used to the present. They stop mourning over the rain and embrace the thousand colored rainbow that follows.

1. The truth, though, is that happiness is not a constant feeling. It hits them both like a tornado, both of them expected and that fact makes the impact even more painful. Pieces start to fall apart like the red-brown leaves in the cold, windy autumn weather and time gets stuck right in front of them. The ticking bomb stops and it's just a matter of whispers, microscopic mistakes before it explodes like Uncle George's newest fireworks. Even if they both say so, nothing is fine anymore, because Rose doesn't bother to scold him when he eats ice-cream on the living room couch and so he doesn't bother to buy ice-cream at all. And they both know it's not because of the frozen snow outside, because they don't buy hot chocolate either. The fireplace stays cold, unused, reassembling their hearts a little bit. There is no point in hiding it, but they do anyway. They ignore the knocking on the doors of the little fairytale castle they have built on the mountain of fantasies that will never, in a million years come true.

2. It's just like one of those scenes in the tragically happy movies, and if they didn't know other parts of their story, they themselves might have been fooled. But they know, oh they know. The kitchen walls are slightly pink, almost invisible if the lights are off. In this scene they seem white, drained… colorless. Even the redness of her untamed curls seems washed away leaving it looking lifeless. Her eyes are trained on the mug of steaming tea in front of her. He stands looking out the window, one of his hands on the back of her chair. To an untrained eye it might seem like a cozy portrait of a couple getting through a stormy winter. But if paid a close attention it is visible that the watery quality of her blue eyes is not reflected from the brownish twirl of now warm tea and in normal circumstances his hand would be on her shoulder, because in that moment they are not together and nowhere strong enough to makes the skies clear of clouds once again. So the bomb explodes. In the midst of running her pinky over the surface of the mug she decides to let it all out. 'So typical of her'- he will think later. _"I was always afraid that someday I would be doing this" _she starts. They've been talking about how cold this winter is and he's halfway through a sentence when she blurts it out. He almost expects it. _"Sitting here, talking to you about weather" _she stresses the last word, leaning forward when she feels his arm barely touching her back. A single curl falls in front of her eyes as he pulls his hand back and slowly moves to stand in front of the sink, giving her a side-way glance. _"Talking about weather, because I would have nothing else to say." _He leans over the sink, putting his hands on the opposite sides of it and shoots her a small, bitter smile, because he knows. Oh he knows. She stands up from her chair walks up to him gingerly, wrapping her hands around his torso and hugging him from behind. She kisses his shoulder as a tear finds its way through his nearly white eyelashes. His brain registers soft thuds of her feet as she exits the colorless kitchen, leaving the mug standing on the table. Now cold.

3. So when he cannot watch her curl on the other side of 'their' bed, he leaves. He packs his bag, taking with him her favorite spoon and her headband that has the smell of her shampoo and after writing a note with a single word on it he walks out the door and heads to the borrow. He apologizes to Ron and kisses 'Mione on the cheek. He faintly hears Hugo say 'Until later' as he apparates with a tsk-like sound. And after several weeks he can see her getting back on her feet, while he struggles with his own pain, but it has always been like this. She recovers fast but never fully, he takes his time and makes himself believe that his method really does the trick of forgetting. She drinks a little less than the last time as he finishes his book. Life goes on.


End file.
